


A Misunderstanding

by EmarisLaughsManiacally



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Coitus Interruptus, M/M, Riding, Teasing, Voyeurism, discreet sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmarisLaughsManiacally/pseuds/EmarisLaughsManiacally
Summary: Slade and Hal have a ‘thing’ and Batman is nosy. He also can’t take a hint.
Relationships: Hal Jordan/Slade Wilson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	A Misunderstanding

Hal’s riding him on the edge of the couch like a cowboy, his quiet panting almost masks Slade’s low moans that sound like growling. Hal leans back and a sudden hoarse scream has him clutching at broad shoulders.

It’s so good goodgoodgood is all he can think, digs his thumbs in so he won’t fall off this mountain of a man. Hears Slade goading him now, like he doesn’t know how much he likes riding him, like Hal needs encouragement to cum himself stupid.

It’s always the rumbling voice that gets him, the whispered filth that he thinks of when it’s just his own hand for company. Fuck if Slade doesn’t know it too.

Hal nods a little desperately when Slade asks if he’s close, curses when he’s asked to wait a little longer. He knows he has to, Slade can keep going forever and he won’t give him a break if Hal comes early.

He’s trying to keep himself from shooting off, trying to convince himself he doesn’t want to get fucked to tears when his window explodes inwards.

They react instinctively, he scarcely feels the heat of their bodies become chill with the sudden night cold, before he encases them in an impenetrable bubble. Slade’s silenced gun already snapped up and popping off at a dark, dodging shadow.

It should bother him that he’s subconsciously accepted Slade so completely that his shield has a slit for him to fire from, but Hal’s too pissed. He’d tried to stand to fight but Slade hadn’t let him up and now he’s clenching down on the dick still inside him and Slade’s grinning like lunatic.

It’s a long five seconds before they realize who it is and Hal closes the slit, makes his bubble thicker so they’re only visible chest up.

“What the _fuck_ , bats?” His voice is rough, uncaring that he’s higher up on his knees, almost looming over Slade to hiss in his ear. "And you knew it was him, you douche." It looks like Hal’s trying to block Batman from seeing him, but he’s really trying to smother the mercenary’s laughter.

Batman says nothing, expression lost in the dark, unmoving except for heavy breaths of exertion.

“Get **out**!” Hal tries, a little frantic when Slade thrusts, his perfect, stupid core muscles hardly move them but Hal fights to keep his eyes from rolling.

He gives himself a second to send up a prayer that Slade isn’t about to do what he thinks he is.

He sends up another prayer that he will.

“This is… a misunderstanding, Lantern.” Batman says, moving closer to the window.

“Well it’s not anymore, go away.”

Slade is watching Hal intently when he speaks in his conversational growl. “Unless the world is ending,” Thrust. “You can have him back tomorrow.”

Thrust.

“I came here-”

Thrust.

“Is the world ending?”

Thrust.

“…No.” Batman has to know Hal is still getting fucked but no one is _saying anything_.

“Then you can have him,” Thrust. “Tomorrow.”

“The League will have to get involved-” Thrust. “-if he’s been operating in your city with impunity.” Batman’s voice also has a deep timbre that is making Hal’s brain misfire, he’s so fucking _conditioned_.

Thrust.

“He’s not!” He’s going to die, he knows it, Slade is murmuring in one ear and Batman is lecturing in another. “We’ve got,” Thrust. “There’s _rules_ , you goddamn,” Thrust. “Creep.”

Slade chuckles and speaks in a tone so faint, Hal has to focus on it.

“Try to keep your shield up.”

Oh fuck.

Oh, _fuck_.

He’s almost frenzied now, but Batman is still just inside the window. “Get the hell out, you can bitch at me tomor-” Slade’s arms snake behind his back, hands grip his shoulders, and he can’t help the moan when he’s yanked down.

At least, he’s going to pretend it was a sexy moan and not an unhinged scream. It’s irrelevant after a moment because Slade is rutting into him like an animal and Hal’s fingers are clutching at white hair in desperation.

Slade can be vulgar when he chooses, but now he presses his mouth close, reminding Hal to hold on, to focus on his construct. It isn’t the iron grip that keeps him from fighting, it isn’t the fact that they’re safe in his bubble that he sinks back onto that delicious cock.

It’s Slade’s tone, softer than before and wholly at odds with the violence of their interruption. It’s a hum in his ear that he knows is designed to make him crumble. And fuck him, but it works every goddamn time. Hal really is tearing up, high on the encouragement, on 'good boy’, and the infrequent caress that Hal reminds himself isn’t a kiss.

He feels his light flicker, a cold breeze on his wet face, and Slade presses the advantage, shifting them easily. Cracks in the construct thrum with a discordant sound and Hal feels himself slipping.

It’s the edge of his control, every press filling him with electric pleasure. The idea that he’s going to be so goddamn sore tomorrow is so distant that it might as well be next year. In another galaxy.

He tries to focus, but already he’s pleading with Slade, mumbling that he’s been so good but he can’t keep it together.

If he were more coherent, he’d realize that Slade hasn’t taken his eye off him, watching him struggle to obey.

When he eventually gives permission and Hal’s spine bows, Slade drinks in the cries, cresting the wave and falling with him.

This is what keeps him coming back, this wild, reckless man who unstrings him with that cocky, flyboy smirk. Hal lives like he’s got a powerline in his teeth and it’s just as crazy as it is intoxicating. He lets a killer into his bed instead of tossing Slade into space like he could, like he _should_.

Hal finally relaxes, weeks of tension gone from his frame. He thanks Slade by drunkenly rubbing his mouth over his jaw and Slade smothers the desire to turn it into a kiss.

Only when his lover is dozing on his chest, does he smirk at the fluttering curtains.

“You know he’s still watching from the next building, right?”

“Whatever,” Hal sighs. “He better pay for my window.”


End file.
